


There Was Only One Caravan

by kookaburrito



Category: Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Confessions, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Finger Sucking, Greg is so deep in denial, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Open Relationships, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Swearing, and Alex is too turned on to think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29993895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kookaburrito/pseuds/kookaburrito
Summary: Greg and Alex end up working late at the Taskmaster house. There is a heavy snowstorm and Greg’s car dies down. How will they keep themselves warm?
Relationships: Greg Davies/Alex Horne
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	There Was Only One Caravan

**Author's Note:**

> Help I can't stop thinking about them and this dynamic and god how is this silly panel show so kinky.  
> Also there was bound to be a "there was only one bed" fic, especially considering the Taskmaster house's weird no bedroom situation.

Greg is taking his coat and getting ready to leave. It has been a productive day at the Taskmaster house. The crew has left about two hours ago, having shot some of the materials for the filler scenes, but he ended up lingering back with Alex in the living room, just going over some of the tasks that Alex wanted to keep him in the loop on, and chatting about nothing and everything at once. Catching Alex who wasn’t running around doing errands was already a miracle, so Greg stayed behind. Also, even though he was the Taskmaster, it was rare that he’d actually come to the house. It was either for shooting some promo materials or… Never, really.

On his way out, Greg couldn’t help but look at his giant portrait that was hanging in the hallway staring at him. It was weird that there were paintings and photos of him  _ everywhere _ , and yet, he spent so little time here. He loved how weird and quirky the place was, and sometimes (far more often that he’d admit), in the shower, or just before bed, or while driving, he liked to imagine himself - as the Taskmaster - actually living there.

He fantasized about the possibilities and filled in the gaps. Why was there a lab covered in plastic? What was he, as the Taskmaster, up to? Did he do some weird experiments there? And why was there no bedroom? Would he actually use the bath in the garden? Why would he have so many yellow ducks? What kind of books were there in the sitting room, and why those? Would Alex be allowed in the house in his spare time, or would he, Lord Greg Davies, restrict him to the caravan at all times? 

Alex. Now that was a hard subject to pinpoint in his fantasies about living the Taskmaster life. Of course, on the show, there was nothing more natural than their dynamic. He slipped into the Taskmaster character so easily, it was almost frightening. From pretending they were lovers, to demeaning, humiliating, bullying Alex - everything seemed so natural, so normal, so  _ expected _ . The second the show ended, he slipped back into his usual self, as if taking off his Taskmaster mask, and deep down would be horrified and shocked about some of the things he said or done, or the things he’d made Alex do. But Alex never seemed to mind. He continued to write questionable dialogue between them, playing with that line, pushing it further and further, all the while being gentle and cordial and  _ normal _ as soon as the spotlights went out.

Greg would usually avoid thinking about the whole thing too much, because it was odd, and he didn’t want to ruin his relationship with Alex by analyzing every little phrase. He accepted that he would never understand what was truly going on in Alex’s mind, and just enjoy spending time with him, on or off the show. 

This evening was no exception. It was already past ten, when he realizes how late it’s been, and they are still talking about work. Greg double takes his clock and whistles, he has no idea how it has already been three hours. Gathering his stuff and preparing to leave, an easy question slips him.

\- Aren’t you expected home too? Won’t Mrs Horne mind?

Alex smiles fondly.

\- She knows what I’m up to. If I’m doing show stuff, it’s sacred time. She prefers I crash in the caravan on days like these, then come late and disturb her or the kids.

\- So understanding. The Taskmaster wouldn’t be so lenient with his assistant, - Greg jokes, and he doesn’t know why he makes such a connection, doesn’t know why he voices it, doesn’t know why he thinks that would be funny. Neither of them laughs, and he immediately feels embarrassed, so he quickly tries to cover this uneasy feeling up. - Er, so, I better get going then.

\- Take care, it’s been nice chatting, - Alex says, rather awkwardly.

Greg must’ve been fussing a little too long when putting his coat and scarf on, because there’s a moment when he lifts his eyes up and sees Alex leaning against the wall in the hallway, wearing his oversized yellow jumper, looking so casual and relaxed like Greg hasn’t seen him in ages. For a split second Greg feels like he’s really leaving a cozy home - his cozy home - behind. Greg shakes his head.

\- I’m going then, don’t freeze your ass in that caravan, - Greg says, and takes off. The weather is absolutely awful. It’s been snowing non-stop all day, and he can’t wait to be home and get under his warm duvet with a nice cup of tea and a book.

Freezing wind and snow keep bombarding him in the face as he’s walking towards his car in the driveway. He actually sprints a bit, trying to warm up and get there faster, finally climbs inside and turns the ignition, waiting for the car to start up.

But nothing happens. The snow has covered the hood, the mirrors look frozen. He tries a few times again, but nothing happens. Shit, talk about awful timing. He slams the accelerator, then the brackets, and hits the steering wheel three or four times, knowing full well that this won’t help.

He walks back to the house in the freezing wind, irritation already bubbling inside of him.

He finds Alex in the kitchen, the kettle boiling away. He’s slicing a lemon. A small radio is on - and of course Alex would have a radio - …  _ heavy snowfalls all over the county, refrain from driving…  _ \- Greg feels even more annoyed that Alex is having a lovely time preparing tea.

\- Alex, something’s wrong with the car, - Greg says, and for some reason it sounds like he’s pissed off at Alex for this.

Alex jumps up.

\- Oh, y-you’ve frightened me. I thought you were already on your way.

\- The car won’t start, - he says impatiently and in a whiny tone, like a child, and immediately feels weird for saying this to Alex. It’s not like it's his fault.

Alex frowns in that distinctive Alex way. He turns fully to Greg and Greg sees that he’s cut his index finger.

At that, Greg forgets his irritation, and immediately feels even worse for taking it out on Alex.

\- Oh, sorry, did you just cut yourself?

\- Nevermind, I was just cutting some lemon for the tea, you startled me.

\- Wait a second, I have a band-aid in my wallet, - Greg swiftly takes out the band-aid and immediately goes for Alex’s finger. It’s a split-second before he leans in to suck the blood on Alex’s finger before realizing that is not his own finger, and how strange that would be. Jesus, where does he get such ideas from? Instead, he takes the disinfectant and some paper from the counter, and cleans and disinfects Alex’s finger, then applies the band-aid. It has little duckies on it, it’s actually an emergency band-aid that he keeps close at all time for his nieces, just in case. Alex looks ridiculous, a tall man in an oversized yellow sweater with a duckies bandaid on his finger.

\- It matches, - Alex proclaims excitedly, that goofball, and then adds a soft. - Thank you, Greg. Now let’s go look at that car, maybe there’s something I can do.

They venture once again in the cold snow, and Alex spends a good ten minutes rummaging under the hood of Greg’s car, picking at its insides. Finally, he emerges, his hair slightly wet from the snow, and cheeks pink. 

\- Sorry, looks like there’s some problem with the engine, or maybe something froze up. I can’t fix that. Why don’t we call you a cab?

\- But I live on the other side of London, - Greg whines. - What about a car repair service?

\- It’s almost eleven, and the weather’s dreadful, - Alex shouts through the wind.

Greg swears under his breath, but doesn’t say anything. Indeed, it would be a stupid idea.

They head back to the house, trying to avoid freezing to death.

Greg doesn’t remember the last time he felt so irritated and angry. Alex goes straight to the kitchen, and without a word prepares a cup of tea for Greg, adding two teaspoons of sugar, and only after that finishes making one for himself. But Greg’s too preoccupied to notice. He’s still trying to think up a good solution.

\- What am I going to do? Can’t I take your car?

\- I didn’t come here by car, the crew gave me a lift, and tomorrow I’m going to work here, still.

\- I guess sleeping in the car is not an option…

\- Well, you can’t turn it on, so the heater is off limits.

\- Shit. Uh, so it means I’m stuck here with you all night.

\- It’ll be fine. You know what, you can sleep on the sofa in the sitt-... 

\- I’m too tall for that sofa, - Greg immediately nips that idea in the bud.

\- We… - Alex begins, and suddenly trails off.

Alex is pink in the face, from being in the cold, or from the warmth of the tea, or from embarrassment, it’s hard to tell. He looks up at Greg, and tells him in a flat, emotionless voice:

\- There’s nothing left to do. We’ll both have to sleep in the caravan.

\- Just what I needed to hear, Christ, - Greg huffs in annoyance.

He thought this was a great day, but now everything’s fucked up. He can’t return home, he’s stuck here, and he has to sleep in the caravan with Alex. But surely it seems like there’s no other solution. He resents himself for really considering it.

\- Won’t it get cold in the caravan?

\- I sleep there all the time, there’s a heater, so it’s not a problem, really, - Alex shrugs, avoiding looking directly at Greg.

\- Not with almost-seven-feet tall men, you don’t.

\- You don’t know me, - Alex jokes, and that actually makes them both laugh, and eases the tension a bit.

\- Thanks for the tea, by the way, - Greg says finally, because he’s not a total dick, and the tea is warming him up nicely, plus it’s just how he likes it.

They hang around the kitchen some more, and it’s strangely comfortable to be in that tight space, even if they’re both quite big and tall. 

Greg can’t help but think about how weird it feels. What if he really was the Taskmaster, and this was really his house, and they were just drinking tea there, while the snow was wrecking London apart? What if Alex was really his to torment, to protect, to order around, his obedient servant… He stops himself from thinking too far ahead.

He takes another mouthful of warm tea and thinks about his broken car.

\- Might as well have a drink since I’m not driving tonight, - Greg feels like he really needs it. There’s nothing to do, and he’s way too tense, apparently for no reason at all.

\- Sure, what would you like? - Alex asks, almost immediately.

\- I’m a big boy, I know where the alcohol cabinet is, - Greg replies, and heads out of the kitchen. When Alex doesn’t follow, he turns and asks, - So? You coming?

Alex abandons his tea in favor of following Greg. And Greg immediately feels pleased that Alex followed him at once.

They head back to the sitting room.

Greg makes them a few drinks, a whiskey on the rocks for himself, a gin and tonic for Alex.

\- Cheers.

Maybe they’ve been talking too much all day, or maybe it’s the switch from the work setting to the casual setting, but none of them says anything for a long time. They drink in silence, and Greg catches himself thinking that he likes the way Alex looks. So soft and comfy in his jumper, but with a glass of gin in his hand, drinking and letting loose. Alex really deserves all the down time he could get, with the amount of work he gets done.

They are sitting down on the sofa. There’s a snowstorm outside. Greg looks up at his own eyes staring at him from the portrait. There’s a picture of him. One of Alex. One of them, photoshopped. And another one… He closes his eyes, takes another gulp, as the whiskey burns at his throat.

Finally, Greg breaks the silence.

\- Alex.

\- Yes?

\- It’s strange being here with you at night, like we’re really  _ them _ , you know.

\- Uhm, - Alex says unintelligibly, taking a sip from his glass, the ridiculous bandaid still there looking strangely unfitting, just like Alex himself looks in casual wear in the sitting room of the Taskmaster house. - Is it?

\- When I’m here and looking at that portrait, I have tyrant impulses, - Greg tries to joke, ease the tension, but Alex doesn’t laugh.

He looks uncomfortable, like he doesn’t want to carry on that conversation. But Greg can’t leave it. He feels like they never really had  _ the conversation _ , and it’s grown into something bigger than them. Certainly something bigger than he can comprehend. He looks over at Alex, and think about what the fuck goes on in that head of his when he writes some of the lines for the show. 

Now, he feels like he’s going to say things, and Alex can’t avoid answering, because they’re here, stormed in, and there’s nowhere to go and no one to interrupt them. And Alex can probably sense that, because now he’s sitting on the edge of the sofa, as if someone prohibited him to relax, knowing full well there’s nowhere to hide. Greg wonders how much of it is his current body language telling him that he’s uncomfortable, and how much of it is just… Alex being Alex.

\- Why do you write all that weird stuff on the show? - Greg can’t keep his eyes off Alex, like Alex is his prey or something. He doesn’t mean to sound intimidating, but maybe he does. Or maybe it’s the alcohol’s fault for loosening up his tongue.

\- What stuff?

\- Don’t fuck with me. The banter section. The stuff about us. I’ve always wanted to know.

If Alex’s ears go pink, Greg pretends not to notice.

\- It’s fun, isn’t it? You bullying me. People love it, - Alex says, rather lamely, after a few moments of deafening silence.

\- Do you like it?

\- I don’t mind.

\- That’s not what I asked.

Alex is looking at the floor, as if suddenly finding his own socks incredibly fascinating.

\- I, uhm, yes, I suppose I do… - he says, barely audible, then seems to find another way, and adds more confidently. - Well, you go along with it.

\- Yeah. I feel awful afterwards, like I’m turning into a dictator, and not in a good way. It’s funny like sometimes the shit that comes out of my mouth… Man, I can’t even control it.

Alex puts a hand on Greg’s forearm, warmly, unexpectedly, in a supporting gesture.

\- I don’t mind it. Don’t worry about it. It’s all okay with me, - he says a little rushed, and smiles a little, a secretive barely-there smile that somehow makes Greg feel a little more at ease. He didn’t even notice when he tensed up again.

Alex gets up, walks around for a bit, and then promptly changes the subject, - What do you want to do now? Watch a movie? Or…

The moment’s gone again, and Greg feels a little bit disappointed that Alex didn’t give him an answer. But on the other hand, maybe it’s better to have this conversation when he’s sober. 

\- I really want to get out of this suit and go to bed, - Greg groans in frustration, suddenly remembering that none of his clothes are here and he doesn’t even have a spare jumper. - Might as well walk home, - he huffs out, annoyed.

Alex frowns. His ears are still pink. Greg momentarily thinks it’s probably embarrassment, but what could Alex be embarrassed about? It’s not his fault Greg doesn’t have any spare clothes here. But Greg feels a pang of irrational annoyance at Alex once again.

\- I have… I h-have some of your stuff, - Alex mumbles, and leaves the room. He emerges with an old oversized jumper and some sweatpants that Greg hasn’t seen in ages.

\- What’s that doing here?

\- Nothing, it’s just. It’s just here, - Alex says. - For nights like this one.

\- But I’m never at the house.

\- You could have come by, - Alex says, and Greg finds that phrase kind of odd, but doesn’t question it, is actually too tired all of a sudden. He just wants to curl up in bed and sleep until morning. It feels wildly surreal to get changed into sweatpants in the middle of the sitting room of the Taskmaster house. Greg takes off his suit jacket and shirt, unbuttoning it at the wrists, then goes for the belt, as Alex is watching him intently. 

\- What’cha looking at?

\- N-nothing, s-s… - Alex cuts off abruptly, eyes widening, as if out of shock about what he was going to say. He’s blushing, and rubbing at the nape of his neck, - I’m going... I’m going to get some stuff for the caravan, and we can g-go, I mean, if you want to, we can go to sleep.

\- Good, - Greg says, and Alex sprints off.

After changing into his sleepwear Greg feels vaguely homey. He goes to the tiny bathroom and brushes his teeth while Alex gathers some clean sheets, and another cushion. Greg notices that Alex has already changed into his sweatpants. Alex also brushes his teeth, and then they’re ready to go.

Greg puts his coat and scarf over the pajamas, and Alex does the same. Feeling immensely silly, they sprint through the heavy snow into the direction of the caravan like little kids escaping from a monster.

Once inside, Alex turns on the heater, quickly removes the table and arranges the two sofas into a king-size sleeping area. It would be quite spacious if they weren’t basically two giants. Greg has to lower his head just to stand in the caravan and once again he thinks that he’s gone mad if he’s agreed to this.

\- I can’t believe we’re gonna sleep here, - Greg says, because it feels like he should say it.

\- Too bad they can’t film it for tv, it’d make quite a good show, - Alex tries to joke, but his voice is too nervous to deliver the line properly, even if it actually squeezes a weak smile out of Greg.

\- Like that time you cuddled Bob, - Greg remembers. 

\- Quite surreal, - Alex smiles at that, and the tension eases up a bit.

When the bed is made, Alex awkwardly gestures in its general direction. There are two pillows, but there’s only one giant blanket, and they both realize it at the same time. And the tension is back in a beat. Greg doesn’t react, and Alex fidgets a little, before asking:

\- D-do you, do you want to sleep on the left or the right?

\- What the fuck does it matter? - Greg responds. He takes off the shoes and the coat, throws them in the general direction of the chair, and lies down on the left side of the sofa, closer to where he’s standing, quickly trying to get under the covers. It’s a little bit better, but the duvet is still cold, and doesn’t warm him up quite yet.

\- What are you doing standing there? Come here, - he grumbles, - it’s cold as fuck.

Alex obeys immediately, taking off his jumper that leaves him in just a tank top and sweatpants, and gets under the covers.

\- T-The heater is on, it should get w-warmer quickly.

Greg is really annoyed at the coldness of the sheets, at Alex stuttering, at the whole stupid situation. He really hates feeling awkward.

\- So, are you okay sleeping closer to the door, or…

\- Jesus, Alex. Shut up. I just wanna sleep.

Neither of them makes a noise for quite some time. The sofas are not half bad, and Greg relaxes a bit. Alex’s body is warm, and even though they’re not touching, that is helping a little. He thinks he might survive tonight.

Until suddenly there’s a sharp loud noise and silence falls.

Alex shuffles near him.

\- I think… Don’t get mad, but I think the heater just switched off. Overpowered.

\- Shit. What?

\- There are too many people in the area using them, probably.

At the prospect of freezing to death in this poorly insulated caravan, Greg once again feels rage bubbling inside of him. Oh no, he’s not going to have that.

He reaches for Alex under the covers almost on instinct alone.

\- Alex, lie on your side. 

\- W-what?

\- I said, lie on your side. Now. - Greg repeats his order, rather impatiently.

Alex lets out a barely audible groan.

\- What was that?

\- Nothing, Greg. I’m… Turning around.

In a second, Greg is already spooning Alex from behind rather nonchalantly, pressing Alex’s back into his chest, so they’re flushed together.

\- We’re going to sleep like this, and keep each other warm. And I don’t care how that looks. I’m exhausted and we’re warmer this way.

\- Sure, - Alex says in a small voice.

\- Don’t worry, you won’t have to explain this to your wife, because no one will ever know we slept like this, - Greg mumbles, already sleepy.

It was probably more logical to say that “because it doesn’t mean anything. But he doesn’t say it. Why does he say what he says? He’s too tired to think. 

It does get warmer. He’s cuddling Alex, as if he was his little Teddy bear, and for a tall, lanky man, Alex is the perfect little spoon. Greg feels soft and comfortable, and finally begins to warm up and relax, dozing off. His toes are poking against Alex’s ankle, Alex’s head is resting on his left arm, and his right hand is hugging his belly through the tank top. They’re flushed together, and Greg can’t believe how perfectly well they fit together. Greg has to keep from sighing from the great sensation of comfiness and security of holding someone close. It has been too long since he’s slept with someone like this, and Alex is not half bad. He actually smells nice, with a scent of soft, minty toothpaste, and Greg buries his head a little closer to Alex’s neck, smelling him a little. He may already be asleep, or not. The good thing is that he’s not cold anymore.

At last, Greg manages to drift off to sleep. He doesn’t know how much time passes, maybe minutes, maybe an hour, until he feels his left hand getting tired under Alex’s head, and the right one getting a little too warm at holding him near. He tries to readjust his right hand and suddenly brushes against something. That could have been a mistake. But suddenly he’s not sleepy at all, on the contrary, he’s feeling wildly awake. His first instinct is to leap away, but for some twisted reason his hand comes down once again,  _ deliberately _ . Now there’s no doubt.

\- Greg… - Alex breathes out, and it doesn’t sound like “Greg, stop”, or “Greg, what the fuck are you doing?”. It’s one of those begging little “Greg”s that Greg secretly knows make him go weak in the knees whenever Alex says them to him on the show.

\- Alex, mate…

\- Let’s… Let’s just go back to...

\- You’re hard, - Greg says, and it’s a stupid thing to say, because they both know it’s true.

Alex groans. He has nothing to say to that, and instead tries to cover his face in the duvet, which is also not the cleverest thing to do, because he’s turned away from Greg, and Greg cannot see him well in the darkness anyway.

\- Why are you hard? - Greg asks, another stupid thing. But he’s too shocked to think clearly.

Alex still doesn’t say anything.

\- Do you fancy me or something?

\- Greg, - and even though it’s dark, and Alex is turned away from him and under the covers, Greg can sense that he’s blushing furiously now.

Alex doesn’t say anything more. He could say “What are you on about?” or “I’m a married man for fuck’s sake” or just about anything. Instead, he’s silent, and Greg feels a knot twisting inside of his stomach. He has no idea if that feeling is disgust, or nervousness, or excitement. The more Alex stays silent, the more Greg’s eyes widen.

\- Alex… - he knows he should probably leave it. Go to sleep and forget about the whole thing. Pretend he didn’t feel what was obviously there. But the alcohol keeps pulsating in his head, and he can’t leave it. He won’t be able to carry on with this job and this relationship, if Alex doesn’t explain, if they don’t talk and resolve all of this once and for all. He won’t be able to continue their banter, if he knows that Alex is actually affected by it for real. Or is he reading too much into it?

\- Explain, - he says, and it comes out like a harsh order. One of many.

\- I don’t. I don’t fancy you… - Alex protests weakly, and Greg doesn’t believe him at all. After a few moments, Alex adds, defeated, - Don’t like you, p-per se, I mean. Ugh. I mean sure, you’re a handsome man. But it’s more, it’s more about the d-dynamic… 

He’s so flustered, and stammering, and Greg wishes he could see Alex’s face.

\- What is it? - he sounds like a strict teacher, and that’s what he feels like now. Scolding a little boy for cheating, or not doing homework properly, or for being naughty.

\- It’s the… It’s the authority t-thing, - Alex tries to explain again, and he’s breathless and stuttering, and Greg feels kind of bad for making him spell it out, but he needs to hear it all from Alex himself.

\- So you get off on my commands? You really do? - Greg is stunned. He definitely read something like this online, but he wouldn’t have thought that that was true. That Alex was secretly feeling it all along.

Alex doesn’t say anything, just shuffles uncomfortably around until they’re finally face to face. Greg can see the outline of his face, and the way Alex’s bright eyes are watching him intently, like he might actually die if Greg says something wrong, like his whole existence depends on Greg. It’s not a bad feeling at all, but maybe a little scary, a little exciting. Greg feels something warm unfurl in his stomach, while his brain is still protesting the dawning realization.

\- But that’s just a game, Alex. It’s not real, - he says firmly.

\- Greg, what do you think this game is all about? - Alex says, exasperated. He finally seemed to gather enough courage to face Greg, both literally and metaphorically, staring at him with those big blue eyes. And despite himself, Greg’s breath hitches in his throat at the sight. When he doesn’t say anything, Alex puts a hand on his arm, digging his fingers into the soft material of his shirt.

\- Don’t you… don’t  _ you _ get off on… commanding me? - Alex asks, and there’s so much hope, and desperation, and  _ feeling _ , that Greg feels lost for words. It’s as if a wrong answer will crush Alex. He feels so powerful in that moment, like he hasn’t felt during the entirety of the show. He doesn’t know what he should say, because searching for the truth in his mind will lead him into dark corners he’d desperately tried to suppress.

\- I’ve never thought about it, - he says finally, resorting to the safe answer.

‘Never _ let _ myself think about it’ he corrects himself in his mind.

Alex watches him incredulously, and Greg feels vulnerable at that stare. He needs to deflect it, and so he focuses on the one thing that shocked him out of sleep.

\- But you... You want me.

Greg hears Alex’s sharp intake of breath at the directness of his tone.

\- Greg… don’t…

\- Don’t try to reason with me. You’re still fucking hard. Are you saying you don’t want me? - Greg asks, and it’s his teacher’s voice again. He feels Alex’s whole body tense up, and he looks so different, like Greg’s words have affected something deep inside of him.

\- I can’t just…

\- Tell me, Alex.

Alex avoids his gaze, looks down, wrinkles the blanket between them, and is shivering a little, as if he’s not controlling his own movements anymore. Finally, he surrenders.

\- I do want you. So bad.

It’s just a few words. Such a small confession, that shouldn’t excite someone so much, but Greg feels like a fucking brick wall fell down. He lets out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding. He doesn’t know when Alex started to have these feelings. Has he always had this secret, or was his desire developing along with the series? And what about Greg himself? He’s here with Alex, his friend and colleague of so many years, under the worn-out covers in an old caravan, in the dark, and Alex wants him so bad he’s trembling. This whole situation is too bizarre, and yet he feels himself getting excited despite all logic and reason. 

He has no idea how to react, and Alex probably mistakes that for disgust, or uneasiness, or everything at once. Greg thinks he sees disappointment in Alex’s eyes, but it’s hard to tell in the dark. Alex lets go of him and nods resolutely. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no either, and maybe that’s enough for Alex.

\- But you’re married, - Greg says all of a sudden, remembering the feeling of the ring on Alex’s finger, on the same hand where he put his bandaid earlier.

\- We… Have an arrangement, - Alex murmurs, and he’s so embarrassed to admit it that Greg reckons it’s true, he doesn’t like to discuss his family life that much, so Greg realizes it’s a huge thing that Alex decided to share this with him. He contemplates the new information, while Alex grows desperate by the second beside him.

\- We don’t have to. We don’t have to think about it at all. Let’s just forget anything happened and go back to-… - Alex is grasping at straws, and he’s faking confidence, and trying to save the situation, but...

\- Let’s test it then, - Greg says suddenly, surprising even himself, and Alex’s eyes widen.

\- What?

\- Let’s test it, - he repeats once again, and puts a warm hand on Alex’s naked bicep, forcing him to face Greg again, keeping him steady, or, maybe, trapped. He immediately feels Alex’s breath quickening.

\- I don’t think it’s...

Greg doesn’t pay attention to his fidgeting, and just says:

\- What is it for you?

\- What… - Alex looks like his brain has been fried. He gapes helplessly at Greg, trying to find the words. 

\- Just tell me. What is it? I never knew this whole thing was real for you. I’m just trying to understand, - he adds more gently. Alex really needs to give him something, because he’s going into this completely blind, and has no idea what to make of it.

\- I just… Love pleasing people, - he says dumbly.

\- Right.

Alex can probably sense that that is an underwhelming answer, when Greg doesn’t release his forceful grip on Alex’s bicep. He takes a deep breath and tries to form a half-coherent sentence:

\- I… Just… Sometimes I wish… I wish we could be alone, and you could order me around. Use me for… For your pleasure. 

_ Shit _ , Greg thinks. It should be weird, it should be twisted, but who’s to say he’s never had these kinds of thoughts when thinking about being the Taskmaster, of his character and this house, and Alex, serving him in any way he could.

\- But it’s not just that. I get off on serving you, in any way I can. Even the small things, - Alex echoes his thoughts, and his voice is so quiet, his words so tentative, but Greg knows it took him so much to say it all out loud, and he feels grateful for Alex’s honest confession.

\- So if I told you… If I told you to get another duvet? Or to bring me another whiskey right now, you’d like it?

Alex gets up rather quickly.

\- No, no. Don’t go, I see. 

Alex lies back down immediately, chest heaving. They lay in silence, while Greg watches him intently.

\- Greg… If this is too weird for you, let’s just leave it, - Alex tries to backpedal for what feels like the hundredth time.

\- Stop, - Greg says, and then adds immediately - Kiss me.

\- W-What?

\- I said what I said, - Greg says, and he doesn’t know why he said it, like so many things this evening, but he feels like he might explode if Alex doesn’t kiss him now. - I want to see how much you want me.

Alex leans closer to him, placing a tentative hand on his side, and obediently goes for a kiss. Greg feels his beard, his warm shaky breath against his own lips, and then those blessed lips on his. He kisses Alex back, shyly at first, savoring his sweetness.

It starts kind of slow, but soon enough Alex kisses him like a starving man, as if he’s eager to prove his devotion, as if he’s wanted this for years and years. Greg kisses back, surrendering to the feeling, loving Alex’s soft beard and the way his fingers spread on his neck and shoulders, embracing him softly but warmly. They kiss for what feels like ages, just getting used to each other, savoring each other, holding each other close and warming up. 

Greg can’t help but deepen the kisses, adds a bit of tongue, which Alex meets with a grateful sigh, and soon their kisses turn even hotter, messier. It’s so raw and they’re both getting lost in the feeling, accepting that this is happening, and Greg realizes that he’s getting hard too. He wonders if Alex can feel it, if it makes him even more excited that he’s eliciting such a pleasing reaction out of Greg. He kisses Alex some more, enjoying in his manly and minty taste, and loving how unabashedly Alex kisses back, as if trying to meet his every wish, even the most insignificant of his desires, surrendering to the kisses with unrestrained passion.

\- Fuck, maybe it’s been too long, but you feel fucking amazing, - Greg murmurs in between kisses, even through he doesn’t believe that is the reason. It has been too long, true, but no one has felt as divine as Alex did. He wants more, and he doesn’t have the time to pretend otherwise, analyze it or freak out.

\- Greg, oh god… - Alex moans against his lips, he’s breathless. They break apart, trying to slow down a bit, Greg feels honest to god dizzy on kissing.

\- But why… Why me? - there are so many questions that Greg has, he feels weird asking them, but he can’t help but feel that today all the actions and words are pouring out of him on their own will.

\- I… Like whoever can be an authority to me, - Alex breathes out, struggling to think, - And I’ve immediately f-felt it with you.

\- And you’re still hard, - Greg whispers in his ear, reaching a hand down and beginning to palm Alex through his sweatpants. - You’re so hard for me.

Alex makes a choking sound, his hips bucking up desperately into Greg’s hand, his cock in his sweatpants already so hard and aching to be touched. He tries to meet Greg’s hand in the best way he can, seeking at least a little bit of comfort.

\- Not so fast, Alex, - Greg says, then adds in a low voice, - Control yourself.

Alex closes his eyes, trying to obey Greg and stop himself from thrusting forward, trying to calm the rushing torrent of desire. Greg goes for another kiss, slower this time, as if collecting all of Alex’s small little noises into his mouth, tasting them, trying to figure out how he feels about them. He puts a hand on Alex’s neck, his fingers playing with the hair on his nape, then touching the shell of his ear, all the while Alex keeps squirming under his touches.

\- You’re so impatient, an impatient little boy, that’s who you are, - Greg whispers, breaking off the kiss, while Alex tries to reach after him with his mouth, eyes clouded with desire and lips raw from all the kissing. Greg’s fingers are so close to his mouth, and he goes purely on instinct when he reaches two fingers to Alex’s mouth and traces the outline of his lips.

\- Suck, - Greg commands, and Alex goes for it immediately, doesn’t question it, doesn’t ask anything, just like so many times during the show. He just starts sucking like the world is ending, taking Greg’s big fingers into his mouth, two at once, and sucking on them desperately, lapping on them with his tongue.

\- Wow, you’re such an eager little slut, aren’t you? - Greg has no clue where the insult came from, almost regrets it, but Alex moans around Greg’s big fingers, licking them even more hungrily, and Greg knows he’s said the right thing, that it all feeds to Alex’s unconventional desires.

\- Such a good boy, taking it all so good. Do you imagine it’s my cock you’re sucking on to?

Alex lets go of his fingers just long enough to choke out a desperate noise.

\- Shit, Greg, you can’t just… 

\- I can say whatever the fuck I want, - Greg breathes out, seeking Alex’s eyes with his penetrating gaze, mostly to get a reaction out of Alex, shock him, make him even harder. It’s intoxicating, the power he has over Alex. How hasn’t he noticed it before?

\- Yes, sir, - Alex agrees, and Greg realizes that he’s so fucking hard already, that tiny word going straight to his cock. Just one syllable making him go feral, making him feel like there’s no going back.

\- Come here, - he pulls Alex closer, grinding against him. Everything just went out of the window, the doubts, the pretence, the excuses: in that moment Greg realizes he wants to fuck Alex, bend him over and have his way with him, or maybe fuck Alex’s mouth while he’s on his knees, or make him ride him into the mattress, Jesus, anything, just fucking anything, but maybe that’s taking it too far, everything is happening so fast, too fast, but on the other hand now there are all of these possibilities, because the tension finally snapped. Greg can’t lie to himself anymore, and they are here, in the fucking caravan in the middle of a snowy night, kissing each other and grinding, and holding at each other like they were the only people in the world. And the truth is finally out, Greg wants Alex just as badly.

There’s no actual plan, just raw desire, that he asks:

\- Do you have lube?

\- Yes, - Alex says, getting up from the bed just enough to reach into the little kitchenette drawer and take out a tiny half-full bottle.

\- Why is there lube in the drawer?

\- I… Well, it’s mine… I’m the only one sleeping here… I use it sometimes...

\- Does your wife know?

\- Yes.

\- God, you’re such a fucking mess, Alex. Such a slut, you even had to get lube here. What do you do with it? Stretch yourself ready for me? Imagine I’m fucking you here?

\- Greg, fuck, - Alex swears, and Greg just loves the sound of that, because Alex is usually so composed, so restrained, but Greg can reduce him to dirty swearing. Alex’s hand reaches down to his own cock, and he’s stroking himself, palming himself through the sweatpants trying to get just some relief.

\- Stop touching yourself and answer me, - Greg swats Alex’s hand away, and keeps it in place in his fist.

\- I… Greg, please… - Alex bucks up, and avoids his gaze.

\- I’m waiting.

\- I… do.

\- You do what?

\- I imagine it’s you.

\- What am I doing to you?

\- Greg…

Alex breathes in deep, closes his eyes, steadies himself the best he can. He’s really struggling, and Greg should feel sorry for him, but instead he’s so aroused by how quickly he can transform Alex into a whimpering mess. He loves the power, it’s going straight to his head like some expensive alcohol.

\- I won’t let you touch yourself until you say it.

\- I can’t…

\- We can go all night if you want, mate.

And god, why is it so hot, why is it turning him on so much, just coercing humiliating fantasies out of Alex, just holding him in place by the wrist, just making him talk, hearing him struggle, but Greg is loving it, and he can see how hot it makes Alex too.

\- S-sometimes I’m r-riding you. 

At that, Greg has to let go of Alex’s wrist and reach down too, adjust himself, because the hot images his brain provided at that were just so good.

\- S-sometimes you’re behind me, and… and… I like that too.

\- You liked it so much that you got hard just from me holding you, - Greg teases.

\- Y-yes… Please, Greg... - Greg can feel that Alex is obediently holding his hand in place, and not touching himself, even if Greg already let go of it, even if it’s killing him.

Greg takes the bottle of lube, and uncaps it, while Alex follows his gaze, too dazed at the possibilities that little gesture implied, to react properly.

\- Do you have toys too, you dirty boy?

\- N-no… I… just… Just imagining it... Is often enough.

The image of Alex, stretching himself open and coming at the mere thought of Greg pushing into him is so delicious that Greg can’t help but grind a little against his hand. He wishes he could see it. Wishes Alex would’ve forgotten to turn off a camera one night, and there was footage of him coming apart with his fingers fucking deep inside of him, and Greg’s name on his lips. How many times did he do it? How many times he has fantasized about Greg reducing him to a whimpering mess?

\- I’m too tired to fuck you proper tonight, Alex, - Greg says. - You’ll have to wait patiently for next time, like the good boy you are. Maybe I’ll fuck you on the Taskmaster throne, you’d like that? Or in the dressing room between shows, just bend you over the desk. Anyone could come in and see you there, naked, writhing, and you’ll have some embarrassing explaining to do.

\- Oh, Greg, - Alex is moaning, and clutching at him, and he looks like he’s going to fall apart at any moment now, and Greg could talk him into self-destruction. He’s panting and squirming, and hanging off his every word.

\- You could come just from me talking to you, huh? 

\- Greg, please, please, let me, - Alex raises his eyes to watch him pleadingly, almost begging him.

\- Take off your pants.

Alex does as he’s told, yanking down his boxers and sweatpants mid-thigh, just enough to free his aching cock, while Greg coats himself generously with the lube. Not a second later he fucks between Alex’s legs like he’s a bloody animal in heat, too turned on to actually fuck him properly. Alex reaches down...

\- Hold on, don’t touch yourself just yet, - he whispers into Alex’s ear, making him shiver all over.

\- Greg, please, I can’t, I’m going to come, - Alex whines, desperate, fucking back on Greg’s cock, loving the lengh and weight of it between his legs.

Everything is filthy and wet, there’s too much lube, they’re grinding against each other with a fierceness coming from years of repression finally crumbling, with Greg hitting his balls at every thrust, and enjoying Alex trembling all around him. It’s messy and desperate, and rough, and so so perfect.

\- Beg me, - Greg orders harshly.

\- Please, sir, please, let me come, - Alex is trembling all over, and Greg reaches in front to stroke at Alex’s cock which is so rock-hard it’s flushed to his belly. And Greg suddenly recalls another name that Alex has called him once, so unexpected and so hot he had to joke around it and pretend it was all so ridiculous, because he absolutely wasn’t prepared to deal with how it really made him feel.

\- Call me… The right name... And I might let you come, - he says as calmly as he possibly can, despite the fact that he’s wanking Alex with one hand and desperately fucking between his legs.

\- No, don’t make me… - Alex’s tone is aroused, thrilled, frightened at the same time, which means he definitely  _ knows _ what Greg meant.

\- Come on, - Greg whispers against his lips, kissing him fast and rough, teasing him to half-death.

\- I can’t, I c-can’t, - and there are actual tears pooling in Alex’s eyes.

\- Yes you can. 

\- No, Greg, please...

\- Say it and I’ll let you come.

He loves that even in this state Alex is obeying him, hasn’t touched himself, and even though he’s clearly on the very edge, won’t let himself come unless Greg orders him. It’s the most intoxicating, amazing feeling in the world. And finally Alex looks him right in the eyes, and...

\- Please, d-daddy, - Alex whines, so humiliated and embarrassed, while his cock is leaking precome and aching for release in Greg’s big hand.

\- See? Wasn’t so hard, after all. Now you can come, - Greg strokes faster and rougher, trying to make it good for Alex, pumping his orgasm out of him.

In a second Alex comes all over his fist and the sheets and his belly with a delicious moan, and honestly, Greg wants to make him come again and again as soon as possible just to hear it once more, and Alex’s nails painfully dig into his back and he bites Greg’s shoulder from the intensity and it’s just a few thrusts later that Greg comes too, between Alex’s legs, making everything wetter and filthier and hotter.

They’re breathing hard, trying to come down from the high, and Greg feels like he’s in heaven, despite the sweat, and filth, and come smeared everywhere.

\- Well, shit... That was… You’re incredible, - Greg says half-coherently, and even though it’s not something he should probably say, Alex sighs, contented, and curls up closer, and Greg realizes he loves the praise too, needs it even.

\- Did I break you? - he asks softly, because the things Alex makes him feel and do can come as a surprise even to him, and he hopes he wasn’t too intense or too rough.

\- Yeah, a little. But I loved it, - Alex admits, and it sounds like he’s still in a happy place, miles away from here.

\- Me too. More than I thought possible.

\- And we’re not… cold anymore, - Alex bashfully giggles to himself, and indeed, the whole caravan has turned into a steamy room, and Greg has forgotten all about being cold and irritated for most of the night.

\- You’ve been such a good boy for keeping me warm.

He reaches out and hugs Alex closer, cradling him into his arms, feeling how Alex’s heart slows down its desperate thumping, and Alex fully relaxes against him, and snuggles closer. He can deal with the guilt, and the regrets, and the analysis, and the questions, and all the talking they need to do later. Tonight it’s just him and Alex, the snowstorm, and the warm cozy caravan, and nothing else matters in the whole damn world.


End file.
